Wedding Day
by Ronnie
Summary: You should be happy. Why aren't you?


You hate it.  
  
You hate everything about it.  
  
You stand at the alter, smiling largely at the crowd of people that came to see you in your special day. Inside, you want to scream and wail and tear everything apart. But you stand still and smile. Always smile. First rule in The Big Book Of Pretending To Be Happy When You Are Not; always smile, always put up a happy front. And you do. You try to make it genuine and you try to make it true, but it is no use. You can tell. You can see your smile reflecting in her eyes as you stare into them, and it is cold and somewhat eerie. So you dim it a little. Second rule in The Big Book Of Pretending To Be Happy When You Are Not; don't over do it. You search the crowd, hoping against all hope, wishing against all wish, to meet the familiar gaze of the one you truly want to see. You search the back of the church, the front, the middle, but you never meet the green gaze you long for. You sigh and turn your full attention back to her and to the talking minister. A man steps forward and hands him the ring and he takes it, unwillingly. The crowd heaves a collected sigh. If the groom seems a bit pale and nauseas, they don't see anything unusual in it. She puts the ring onto your finger and, looking into your eyes, says the binding words. A knot tightens at the pit of your stomach, threatening to knock the breath out of you. You're scared. You're terrified. You take your ring and then her hand. Her skin is dark against your pale palm, and you stare at it in awe. Why? You wonder against your will. Why has it come to this?  
  
You take the ring and place it on her finger. The words leave your mouth effortlessly, as if there is nothing to it, but every word slices and stakes you like a knife. Your skin is marred with unseen bruises and bleeding gashes by the time you finish your part. She is smiling, and you even spot a single tear sliding down her cheek. You wish you could cry for her. But you don't. You cry for him. Tears build up in your eyes, blurring your sight slightly. She smiles tearfully. The minister smiles, and says those faithful words. "I now pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss the bride." And you do. You lift up her veil and with forced passion plant your lips onto hers, dipping her ever so slightly. She gives in fully, closing her eyes blissfully. You hate yourself for lying to her. You hate yourself for leading her on, for never telling her the truth. You wish you could tell her. You decide that you just might do it. She is first to break the kiss. The smile on her face lights up the room, but it passes you. You remain in the dark. You think it's appropriate. You take her hand and you both turn to the crowd of family and friends and business associates and acquaints. "Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy."  
  
And at that very moment, you lock gaze with someone at the very back of the church. Someone who is leaning against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. Someone who is wearing a black suite and a gray tie. Someone who likes to be kissed just below his ear. Someone who makes wonderful noises when you make love. Someone who has a fear dark, closed places, someone who refused to get a cupboard under your stairs. Someone who you love.  
  
His eyes are empty. You can see it even from afar. You try to send a silent message. You try to make him see that there was no other way. But he doesn't hear you. His mouth is twisted into a vicious smirk and you can tell, you can just tell that he's been beating himself all day long with the question; to come, or not to come. As you begin to make your way down the aisle, with her, your wife, by your side, he shakes his head and leaves, turning his back to you. His shoulders are hunched and his walk swayed a little. He's been drinking, you marvel. He never drinks. Oh, what have I done? You ask yourself silently as you make your way outside, to the front of the beautiful chapel, where a car would be waiting to take you and your newly wed wife to the manor, where the reception will be held. Somehow. you know he will come.  
  
In the car, you kiss. You don't remember how it began, the frenzy of limbs and mouths and gasps, but you ended up kissing her passionately, all the while thinking of a green eyed, black haired someone who you love with all your heart. She mumbles sweet nothings in your ear as she nibbles on your earlobe. You let her. And suddenly, too late, the car stops in front of the big house. The driver walks around it and opens the door for you and you help your bride, you wife, out, guiding her towards the lawn. It is beautiful. You knew it would be, of course, you've seen the preparations and the designs. But something. something about seeing it after you've been wed. it makes the difference. The guests arrive slowly and she leaves you with a smile, going with her many cousins up to the chambers that have been turned into a dressing room, to change out of her beautiful yet uncomfortable wedding dress. You take the time to look around, all the while smiling and shaking hand with people whose face you will not remember in the morning.  
  
You start wandering around, accepting congratulations and well wishes from all around, looking for one man and one man only. You finally spot him, standing by the bar. Should I go there? You ask yourself, nervously gnawing on your bottom lip. Of course you should! Counters a voice, as if wanting to smack you upside your head. With trembling limbs, you make your way across to him. You cough nervously.  
  
"I didn't think you'd come." you whispers and he shrugs his shoulders. You wish he'd show feelings. Punch you, kick you, scream at you, and show something other then that cold acceptance that is reflected in his eyes. You run a hand through your hair. Your wife's voice rings in your ear. 'Do not mess that do, Draco Malfoy, or you will have to deal with me!' you had laughed and promised.  
  
"I didn't think I'd come, either." He says, and you jump at the sound of his voice. It is deep, dark, and as beautiful as it was last time you talked. As always, it sends shivers down your spine and you have to fight the unmistakable urge to pounce him. You swallow and lower your head, staring at your polished shoes for a moment, trying to catch the elusive words that escaped you. What does one say in a situation like this? I'm sorry?  
  
"Then why did you?" you can't think of anything else to say. It is stupid, but you need to know.  
  
"I wanted to see for myself that it is true." He says, and the mere tone of his voice makes you raise your eyes to him in awe. You forgot how powerful he could be. "I wanted to see for myself that you are the cheating bloody bastard they say you are, Malfoy." He spits your name as if it left vile taste on his tongue. It probably did.  
  
"I'm sorry." You say, shooting in the dark, trying to make it. He laughs quietly and bitterly and shakes his head.  
  
"No, you're not." And with that said, he turns around and walks away, leaving you alone in the middle of everything, all dressed up and nowhere to go.  
  
You think it's appropriate. 


End file.
